Volim Te
by poppey
Summary: Just a little thing I wrote instead of doing coursework. I'm not really sure if this'll be a one shot or not, if it's not I don't really know where it'll go.
1. mi

He watches me from the door, struggling to get my clothes on. I'm late as it is and haven't dried my skin properly after the shower. Or that's what I prefer to think is stopping me getting my jeans done up. I eventually manage to get the zipper half way closed and just pray that'll hold, pulling on a camisole that barely touches the waistband of my pants I don't even bother trying to wriggle into my sweater opting for one of his shirts instead. It's long, the extra foot he has on me an advantage this time, reaching half way down my thighs it covers what I want to be covered. He chuckles as I struggle with the buttons, the long shirt sleeves handicapping me from doing even the simplest of things and so he helps doing the buttons up from the bottom to just below my bust line.

I look in the mirror and know it won't be long now, 'til we're forced into making an announcement. We haven't said anything yet you see, I keep saying "We'll tell them at weeks," and when we get there I set a new target. At this rate I'll be lying on a gurney at 10cms before I officially say anything, but people have started to talk. As I wear his clothes more often, to cover my upper body, as I wear flat shoes and have to dash out to the bathroom to pee at what feels like five minute intervals, I no longer take cigarette breaks and have stopped drinking coffee. People stop talking when I enter the conversation and I just get a feeling. He says he hasn't told anyone yet, just his father, but he's thousands of miles away…who's he gonna tell? I don't know why I'm keeping it some big secret, probably because I don't want to here people's doubts, the surprise that we're going through with it, the wondering whether I'm good enough for him – in their eye's he's a perfect man, they've forgotten his mistakes but not mine. I'm an alcoholic, a smoker – I've broken hearts, I'm the one with the weird family; the neurotic mother, the brother who ruined a funeral. He's practically an angel in comparison. An angel with a heart breaking past, eyes that hold secrets and an unrivalled kindness.

He rolls up my sleeves, puts his finger under my chin and lifts my head so my eye line meets his. "Tell me what you're thinking." He says.

"How I'm not worth this. I'm not worth you."

He doesn't say anything at first, just pulls me into a hug, he lowers his head so his lips are next to my ear, and says so softly I could barely hear it, "Volim te."

Then I realise what matters; I love him too.


	2. se

_You're lying there asleep, your hair in a knotty mess spread across the pillow. You're curled up facing me, one of my hands on your swollen belly both of your hands covering mine. You look beautiful. I'm in awe of you. I really am. We're very similar really; you and I. We're both good at keeping stuff to ourselves until it builds up and we cry for help. But you can share you emotions, talk about your past, even though it is painful. I wish I could do that. I really do. _

_I feel the baby move under my hand and I see that for the first time in years I have a certain future. There is no doubt that in 13 weeks I'll be a father again. 13 weeks. I have a hunch it'll be like riding a bike, it just comes back to you. The love. The responsibility. The overwhelming emotion. And I have a future with you. With you and the baby. Naš beba. _


	3. nama

I had to ride the El to work again. It was too hot and I was ridiculously uncomfortable, the carriage was crowded and not one of those brats of teenagers thought to give up their seat to the flushed, pregnant lady. Oh no, that would be too much to ask. I found myself thinking 'kids today…' but caught myself before it developed into a full blown rant. I arrived at the hospital 5 minutes after my shift started, but rather than snapping at me Weaver merely looked at me with pity. It was one of the worst heat waves to have struck Chicago in over one hundred years and I happen to be seven months pregnant. Great, just great.

I walk; or rather waddle into the doctor's lounge scowling at anyone in my path. And there he is, looking tired and hot and sweaty. He sees me walk in and his eyes light up, he grins and suddenly everything feels better.

I feel the baby kick hard against his hand as he places it, so gently on my protruding bump. I feel safe, and it's obvious so does the baby.

"I let my forehead drop onto his chest, "This is gonna be a long day, ain't it." He rubs my back, instantly easing the dull ache that has been hindering me all day. I want to stay there, not bother with work today - but Sam comes in, a look on her face like she's wandered in on something she shouldn't have seen. I know they're still not comfortable around each other again, especially not since he told her about us, about the baby. There's a trauma coming in, apparently and they need my help. She leaves as quickly as she entered, letting some of the cool air escape with her. He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing the top of my head. He's tired, I can feel it in the way he slumps into the hug, not seeming nearly as tall as he did when he left for work last night.

He kisses my forehead, "You'd better go." I nod, already too exhausted to say much. His hand still lingers on the spot the baby kicked. "Be careful, ok?" I nod again. He picks up his bag and shuts his locker. "See you later. Goodbye Abby."

Do videnja Luka.


	4. zaljubljen

_You doubt that you'll be any good as a mother. You convince yourself that this baby is just another thing that despite good intentions you will mess up. I don't see it like that. _

_Danijela said the same; she didn't think she'd love it enough, care for it enough, be strong enough. But the moment Jasna was born she knew she could do it, do it all for the warm little bundle she was holding close to her heart. It was me who had problems at first, the idea of someone being that reliable on you, for absolutely everything scared me beyond belief. But I can pinpoint the precise time I felt like a father. Jasna was just over a week old and Danijela had put her down to sleep after a feed. Danijela was exhausted and so used this time to sleep herself, instructing me to wake her if the baby should wake up. I sat in a chair next to the crib, reading when I heard Jasna stir, she made the noises a full contented baby makes when it has just woken up and is ready for some attention. I stood up to look over the edge of the crib and was met by a big, round pair of blue eyes. Our gazes locked for a second and she gripped my finger in her tiny fist. I suddenly felt I would do anything to protect this innocent little creature from harms way and by the time Marko was born I was an old hand at the Dad thing, Jasna had me wrapped around her little finger. And I tried as hard as I could to protect her, to protect them but I slacked for just moments and that was it, everything I knew and loved was gone. After one painful act – what had they done? They didn't deserve it. I thought that from then on my life was destined to be one of little commitment to anyone else, just doing what I wanted – but at some point the overwhelming need to be a father again, to love again, to be loved again kicked in. I found you again, my heart as my compass. And now we have something precious, something that is ours and only ours. And one day, sometime soon you'll see it as that too. _

_I know you'll be a wonderful mother, even if the parent-child dynamic scares you. Once you hold that little baby for the first time, see its eyes, realise it's innocence and how much it needs you and your love – then all you'll want to do is give it love, keep its innocence and hold it; keep it safe. You're not your mother Abby and this baby isn't you or your brother. It's someone new, someone for us to shape, something constant for both of us to love. You'll see, just wait Abby, just wait. _


	5. Hvala vam

I'm curled up in bed when you finally arrive home from your night shift; your last scheduled shift before the baby's born. Jesus, there's a scary thought. The next time you go leave for work you won't just be saying good bye to me and a bump, it'll me and the baby. Our baby. I hear you put your keys down, then your bag before you tread along the corridor. Your footsteps stop before you reach the bedroom and you flick the light on in the nursery. I know just what you'll be doing; sitting in the chair you placed so carefully next to the crib, leaning over the side, staring down at where the baby will sleep. It's become a little ritual of yours, not that you realise I've noticed.

There's a few moments of silence, then you begin to chat to yourself, oh so quietly in Croatian. I presume deciding where this and that will go in the nursery, or things you want to do with the baby, tell the baby, teach the baby.

After a while you creep back into the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you – scared to wake me. You strip down to your underwear and climb on top of the covers, the heat having made the quilt redundant for the last few weeks. You move closer to me, your chest against my back, hand stretched just under my navel, finding the exact spot the baby has spent the last hour kicking, waking me up in time to hear you return. I feel you smile the muscles in your cheek move against my shoulder and I can imagine the dimples they form. I feel safe, I feel loved and I feel I have something worth holding onto; you whisper something in my ear and kiss me lightly on the neck.

"Hvala vam, Abby. Hvala vam"


End file.
